


One, One Hundred, One Thousand

by isyotm



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, First Meetings, Fluff, Kissing Booths, M/M, School Festivals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:21:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23929846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isyotm/pseuds/isyotm
Summary: Tsukishima expects their class's kissing booth to be a huge disaster. He's half right.
Relationships: Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi, Yachi Hitoka & Yamaguchi Tadashi
Comments: 4
Kudos: 193





	One, One Hundred, One Thousand

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Kissing Booth](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18907726) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account). 



> It feels silly to have a high school AU tag for a series that already takes place during high school but in the universe of this fic, Tsukishima doesn't play volleyball and he and Yamaguchi (properly) meet for the first time during the school festival.

A kissing booth is a fucking terrible idea.

Looking around their classroom objectively, Tsukishima can’t see anyone popular enough that someone would be willing to pay to kiss them. He doesn’t buy into that “prince”/”princess” nonsense some of his classmates tend to spout during free periods, at lunch, and between classes, but he’s heard people in the hallways gossiping about the most attractive first years and none of them are in class four. This is going to be a waste of everyone’s time.

He zones out as his classmates argue the logistics of the kissing booth; construction, placement, schedules, etc. He has no interest in being involved and hopefully if he stays quiet enough, they’ll forget he’s even there. They have a math quiz today and it wouldn’t hurt to look over the material one more time.

The sound of his own name snaps him out of his reverie, and he glances up to the front of the classroom to see his name being added in chalk. _Goddammit._ He glares. Who volunteered him for this?

“Is that okay with you, Tsukishima-kun?” one of their class’s festival organizers asks, not quite meeting his gaze.

 _No._ He smiles blandly. “Yes, that’s fine.”

“Okay, great! Then that’s the schedule finalized. Now, how should we do pricing? I’m thinking…” He zones back out, the damage already done, and sighs. He’d used the lion’s share of his monthly allowance yesterday on a book about the life cycles of stars that had recently been translated; at least this means he’ll have some time to sit down and read it.

Tsukishima frowns, looking at the schedule again. They have him manning the booth during lunch? That’s prime time. Do they honestly think—?

The girl in front of him turns around and pumps her fist. “Good luck! We’re counting on you, Tsukishima-kun.”

He stares at her. “Uh, sure. Right.”

_What the fuck?_

* * *

The day of the festival dawns bright and warm and Tsukishima groans as he rolls over in bed and checks the weather on his phone. It’s not supposed to rain today _at all_ , which means there’s no hope shifts might get moved around (or canceled entirely) because of inclement weather.

He gets dressed with the air of a man marching to the gallows, glaring balefully at the bowl his mother places in front of him.

“Your school festival is today, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“You never did tell me what your class was going to be doing.”

 _Because it’s humiliating._ He makes a noncommittal noise and places the bowl in the sink.

“Kei?”

“I’m heading out.”

“Don’t forget to have fun today! Tell me all about it when you get home!”

 _Hopefully there won’t be anything to tell._ He squints in the bright sunlight as he sets out, the breeze feeling like it’s mocking him as he walks to the station. Still, he holds out hope. Maybe there will be a problem with the train (there isn’t). Maybe there was a mistake in the weather report (still sunny so far). Maybe he’ll get hit by a car (he doesn’t).

As he passes block after block, he walks slower and slower, trying to think of a good excuse that would let him turn around and go back home. A power outage? There would’ve been something on the news. They canceled the festival? Not without a very good reason. He had to help an old woman cross the—? He can’t even finish the thought, it’s too absurd.

He pauses at the final turn before the school entrance, finally admitting defeat. He’s here. He lost. The sight of the front gate decked out in bright colorful balloons fills him with dread, a cheery sign welcoming everyone to the Karasuno High School 48th Annual School Festival!!! (He grits his teeth at the unnecessary amount of exclamation points as he heads inside).

He has the first half of the day off, to “go enjoy the festival, Tsukishima-kun!”, but it’s hard to enjoy anything as the hands on the clock count down, slow and inexorable, to the end. It’s like he can see them in his mind’s eye, making their way around the clock face— _tick, tick, tick—_ as he wanders aimlessly past brightly colored signs advertising cafes and haunted houses, two costumed students handing him a flier for their play at 1 PM (at least he has an excuse for missing that), and rows upon rows of food stalls selling yakisoba and takoyaki and shaved ice.

Eventually, despite his best efforts and hopes for some sort of painful and debilitating illness to strike him down, it’s noon and time for his shift to begin. He considers making a run for it, but as if on cue, their class representative finds him, cheerfully informing him she’s there to escort him for the beginning of his shift. Great. He gestures for her to lead the way, wishing for death as they snake past an obnoxious demonstration from the cheer club and make their way outside.

Their class kissing booth is a modest wood structure, with “modest,” in this case, being a polite word for “ugly.” The paint job on the uneven front siding is already flaking off and the edge of one of the letters is a little smudged, reflecting less light than the rest of the words because someone had accidentally grabbed it before it had finished drying. It looks as pathetic as Tsukishima feels.

_And I have to sit at this thing for two goddamn hours._

He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose to prevent himself from screaming. It doesn’t help. He sighs. That does help, a little bit.

One of his classmates looks up as he approaches and greets him with what looks like the relief of someone finally being released from prison. “Oh good, you’re here.”

“Yes.” He doesn’t comment on the other half of that. _“Good”?_ Nothing about this is _“good.”_ He takes another deep breath and pastes on an expression of bland half-interest. “What do I need to do?”

He nods absently as his classmate walks him through running the booth, bashfully commenting on the lack of customers so far, and, with a final clap on his shoulder that feels like Tsukishima is being sentenced to death, he’s left alone. He sighs a final time and settles into the uncomfortable folding chair, opening his book and praying for an uneventful shift.

* * *

“Um.”

Tsukishima resists the urge to roll his eyes and looks up, sliding on a blandly polite but ultimately unfriendly mask.

The boy in front of him is wearing their school uniform and Tsukishima feels a dim flicker of recognition at the sight of him: Thin with longish brown hair, almost as tall as Tsukishima himself, cheeks covered in freckles like the constellations in the book Tsukishima has been reading since his shift started.

“If you need directions, I can’t help you.” He wonders if he should direct the boy to the information booth on the other side of the festival, and decides he doesn’t give enough of a shit. He goes back to his book.

“Oh, uh, no, I—I don’t need directions.”

 _Well, congratulations to you._ He turns the page.

“I was, um, I was wondering how much for a...” The other boy trails off and when Tsukishima looks back up, his cheeks are pink.

Oh, he’s too embarrassed to say the word. Tsukishima smirks. _How precious._

“A _kiss_?” He deliberately draws the word out, making it last an extra syllable.

“Um, yeah. That.”

Tsukishima points at the cardboard sign displayed the prices. “100 yen for the cheek, 1000 yen for the lips.” He pushes the empty plastic cup towards Freckles. “Money goes here. I don’t have change.”

“Um, one on the—on the cheek. Please.”

Tsukishima taps the rim of the cup. “Money first.” _Let’s get this over with._ The boy is probably here on a dare and he doesn’t want to get stiffed.

“Oh.” Freckles turns bright red again. “R-right.” Tsukishima watches as the coin drops into the cup, the sound of it hitting the bottom a loud, lonely _clack._

Freckles is too shy to look at him directly, eyes focused on the cheap wood of the booth’s counter as he leans over, his head tilted at an awkward angle as he presents his freckled cheek to receive his promised kiss.

Tsukishima takes a deep breath and tries not to sound too annoyed as he exhales through his nose and stands up. Freckles’ skin is smooth and surprisingly cool against his lips, considering how warm it is outside where the booth is. Perhaps he was inside helping with his class’s exhibit and is just now taking his break.

He shakes the thoughts from his head. It doesn’t matter. He pulls away and sits back down, his mouth tingling from the unusually intimate contact. Freckles won’t meet his eyes which doesn’t surprise him, considering the other boy couldn’t even bring himself to say the _word_.

“Um, thanks.”

Tsukishima just goes back to his book. He was paid to do it, it’s not like this was some kind of favor. He sees the shadow of his only customer retreat, the festival around him swallowing up the sounds of any footsteps.

* * *

He’s back again. Freckles. Tsukishima’s forgotten his name, if he’d known it all.

“We’re not doing a two-for-one special,” he says dryly, setting his book aside. “You’re going to have to pay again.”

Freckles turns a spectacular shade of red. Really, if Tsukishima didn’t know any better (or if he fucking cared at all), he’d be worried the other boy was in danger of passing out. “I-I know that.”

Tsukishima shrugs. “It’s your money.” He waits for the coin to drop into the cup (a slightly echoey _clink_ as it hits Freckles’ earlier contribution) and then stares back at the boy on the other side of the counter. “Same side?”

“Sorry?”

“Same side as the last time? Or are you just going for symmetry?”

He looks like he needs to think about it for a moment and Tsukishima bites down on a sudden laugh that bubbles up at the back of his throat. “Symmetry’s probably better, right?”

Tsukishima shrugs. “You’re the one paying for a kiss.” He smirks as he watches the color flood back into Freckles’ face at the reminder. _Too easy._

“O-other side then. Um, please.”

It’s nice, Tsukishima thinks idly as he leans in to brush his lips against the boy’s cheek (no longer cool to the touch, but warm instead, and Tsukishima thinks he was right earlier about Freckles having just come outside), to hear someone ask him so sweetly for something like this. When he straightens up again, he’s embarrassed by the idle, weirdly sentimental thought and turns his face away, clearing his throat. His face feels hot, but he decides to blame that on the sun that’s been steadily creeping across the counter and into his eyes for the past half hour or so.

“Thanks.” The smile the other boy flashes him is bright and it takes Tsukishima’s eyes a moment to focus again.

“Whatever.”

* * *

“We don’t do stamp cards either.”

He’s expecting the blush this time, and he gets a feeling of accomplishment watching the color spread across the boy’s cheeks and spill down the line of his long pale throat. Funny, it seems like the freckles are only on his face. Or perhaps he has more somewhere else? The thought makes him feel oddly warm and he shoves it away.

“I figured that much out by myself.”

Tsukishima feels a faint flicker of interest at this display of some kind of spine. So Freckles is capable of more than just blushing and stammering after all. He was starting to wonder. “Yes, I suppose this isn’t your first rodeo.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out in a long, loud sigh. “And you haven’t even bought me dinner yet.” He shakes his head. “Shame on you. Oh well.” He taps the rim of the cup, the change bouncing around at the bottom from the motion. “You know the drill.”

_Clink._

Lean.

Kiss. On the same side as the first time.

Freckles is starting to sweat a little bit, and his skin is much warmer this time, but to his surprise, Tsukishima doesn’t really mind. He pulls away slowly, his mouth tingling again, and he buries his hands in his pocket to resist the urge to press them against his lips. He bows sarcastically. “Thank you for your continued support.”

The sound of the other boy’s bright, shy laughter lingers long after he’s gone, the sound of it echoing in Tsukishima’s ears and distracting him from his reading.

* * *

“You know, I was kidding about buying me dinner.”

It’s not often that Tsukishima feels like the butt of a joke, but he can’t think of any other reason that Freckles would come back for a fourth (fourth! What the fuck?) visit, this time bearing a dorayaki which he holds out nervously for Tsukishima’s approval.

“I don’t really think dorayaki counts as a meal anyway.”

Tsukishima stares at the small pancake, one side of it lumpy and uneven from being poured by an inexperienced hand. He knows he should take it, but he’s still trying to figure out what the punchline here is, and whether or not it’s him.

“I—Sorry, I just thought—it’s lunchtime and you’re here so I thought maybe you were getting hungry and I—you probably don’t even like sweets anyway, sorry, I should—”

“No.” His voice is loud and way too eager. _Cool it._ “It’s…fine. Uh, thanks.” He takes the dorayaki like it’s a ticking time bomb, but when it doesn’t explode in his face he figures it really was probably just the nice gesture it first appeared as, and…well, he still can’t quite wrap his head around that one.

The force of Freckles’ pleased smile nearly knocks him backwards and for a brief, embarrassing moment, Tsukishima kind of forgets how to speak. He clears his throat and readjusts his glasses. “It’s still going to be 100 yen though.”

“I know.” The confidence with which he says it, and the shy but sure way he meets Tsukishima’s eyes, makes the breath catch in Tsukishima’s lungs, and when he leans over to kiss Freckles this time, his breath comes out in shaky, uneven puffs against the other boy’s cheek. He closes his eyes and for a brief moment, he thinks it’ll almost be a shame when his shift ends.

* * *

Tsukishima can feel someone hovering, waiting anxiously for him to pay attention to them. He sighs. At least his shift is almost over. Besides, it’s probably just Freckles again.

For a moment, the thought makes his heart beat a little bit faster in his chest, and he frowns.

“Back a—?” He stops when he looks up into an unfamiliar face. It’s not often he’s this wrong-footed and it takes him a moment to recover.

The tiny blonde girl in front of him looks like she can’t decide whether to glare at him or cower behind the booth’s counter and he has no interest in waiting for her to figure it out. “A kiss on the cheek is 100 yen, on the mouth is 1000 yen,” he says in a bored tone as he goes back to his book. Maybe Freckles ran out of change. _Or he realized there are better things to do with 100 yen than pay for a kiss on the cheek from the biggest asshole in year one._ Usually it’s a title that Tsukishima bears proudly, but right now it rankles a bit.

When he doesn’t hear the sound of either a coin or a bill being stuffed into the cup in front of him, he glances up again. “What’s it going to be? You’re holding up the line.” He stifles a laugh as she whirls around. As if people are _lining up_ to get a kiss from Tsukishima.

Well, anyone besides Freckles.

“What are your intentions with Yamaguchi?” she demands. She doesn’t put on a cutesy tone to speak to him, the way the girls in his class sometimes do. She sounds angry and bristling, puffed up like his neighbor’s Pomeranian when he makes accidentally makes eye contact with it on the way home.

The mental image makes him smirk, and he doesn’t bother to try and hide it as he replies, “Who?”

“Yamaguchi?” Now she sounds unsure.

“I have no idea who that is.” Yamaguchi? Is there someone in his class named Yamaguchi? He doesn’t think so. Could she be referring to—?

“Yachi!”

Tsukishima looks up to see Freckles (the Yamaguchi she was talking about?) striding over to the booth, a harried look on his face, a familiar pink tint in his cheeks as he makes eye contact with Tsukishima.

He looks at the chagrined boy and the tiny, angry girl and tries to connect the dots. “Girlfriend?” The thought it oddly disappointing.

“And if I am?” Her voice is shaking, but the girl—Yachi, apparently—straightens herself up to her full height. It’s not very impressive. His neighbor’s dog tends to bounce when it barks too loud.

Tsukishima stares at her, struggling to mask his surprise. If Yamaguchi has a girlfriend, then why did he spend 400 yen on kisses from some random guy?

“She’s not,” Yamaguchi quickly reassures him, and Tsukishima doesn’t miss the look (too nice to be a glare, but definitely displeased) he flashes her.

“Still, that doesn’t give you the right to be so mean to him when he really—”

“ _Yachi!”_ Yamaguchi’s voice is practically a yelp. Tsukishima’s neighbor’s dog also has a reputation for being a neighborhood bully at times. “Please!”

Yachi frowns. “I’m just trying to help. I know you said—”

“ _I know what I said_ , we don’t need to bring it up right now.” The words come out so fast they almost run together.

It really is fascinating, observing this dynamic. He closes his book and props his chin on his hand to watch them argue in these half-constructed sentences that they both already seem to know the ending of. Based on the color rising in Yamaguchi’s cheeks, he’s probably eavesdropping on some secrets Yamaguchi doesn’t want him to know, but that’s about all he can puzzle out.

“He just. You know.” Yachi glances over at him and seems to flinch when Tsukishima meets her eyes with his level stare. She leans in closer to Yamaguchi and whispers, “He has a bit of a reputation for being a jerk,” loud enough for Tsukishima to hear her. He’s pretty sure he wasn’t meant to, so he lets it go.

“It’s fine. I’m fine. Promise.” Yamaguchi’s smile is easy and relaxed, and Tsukishima feels a brief flash of something ugly and green in his chest at the sight of it. What, is he wishing that was for him? This whole kissing booth thing is clearly starting to mess with his head.

“Okay.” Yachi still looks uncertain.

“I promise you’ll get him back safely, Yachi-san,” Tsukishima says with a shit-eating grin. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind letting us finish our business transaction?” He turns to Yamaguchi. “I am, of course, assuming you’re interested in another—”

“I—that’s—um—”

“Yes,” Yachi says firmly. “He is.” And she turns on her heel and leaves the two of them alone.

Tsukishima watches her go, head held high and back straight until she’s about 30 feet away, and then she ducks behind a tree on the other side of the courtyard. She must think she’s out of sight, because she suddenly collapses, a hand clutched to her chest as she breathes rapidly in and out. She glances up, her face looking like she almost just got hit by a car, and when she meets his gaze, realizing she’s still clearly visible from the kissing booth, she goes pale and then _actually_ ducks out of sight. Tsukishima resists the urge to laugh out loud.

“Sorry.” Yamaguchi scratches the back of his head sheepishly, looking away.

“I’m surprised you didn’t bring your guard dog with you earlier.”

“She was helping her club.”

“Does she always accost people like that?”

“Not usually. And accost? I think you could take her.”

“Physically, perhaps, but emotionally? Can you imagine the toll?” Tsukishima’s dry response earns him a laugh, the bright, sweet sound of it chasing away any other thought in his head.

They stay there just looking at each other, half-smiles teasing the corners of their mouths, for way too long, and Tsukishima is embarrassed by the time he manages to snap himself out of it.

He readjusts his glasses and asks, “So were you interested in round—what is this? Five?”

Yamaguchi scratches the back of his neck. “I—I’m kind of out of 100 yen coins.”

There’s an annoying part of Tsukishima’s brain eagerly pointing out how that’s not a no. “The well had to run dry eventually,” he says airily. “I guess there’s no—”

“I like you.”

What.

_That makes sense._

Does that make sense?

“Sorry, that’s probably really weird to hear after I made you—”

And that half-conversation between Yamaguchi and his tiny friend earlier, had that been about—?

“You don’t have to—”

Is it flattering? Should he feel flattered? He didn’t hate it. And the idea that maybe Yamaguchi really liked it is...well, he doesn’t hate that either.

“Um, I’m just going to—” He snaps back to reality as he realizes Yamaguchi is leaving.

“You’re not even going to wait for an answer? I didn’t take you for the kiss-and-run type. And I still haven’t thanked you for my ‘dinner.’” His voice sounds weird to his own ears, a shaky note of repressed excitement like seeing a pile of birthday presents and not being allowed to open them just yet. He pulls out his phone and, trying for casual, not quite managing it, says, “How about I give you my phone number?”

Yamaguchi’s face lights up. That’s only word for it; his eyes, already so expressive, shine with the same weird bubbly feeling that’s taken residence in Tsukishima’s chest and he suddenly doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, sliding them into his pockets and then resting them on the counter of the kissing booth and then fiddling with a thread trailing from the bottom of his shirt. “Uh, yeah! Yeah, sure!”

Tsukishima waits.

Yamaguchi looks expectantly at him, still looking inordinately pleased, like Tsukishima is gifting him with the secret of eternal life and not just a phone number.

“Were you planning on memorizing it or…?”

“Oh! Oops.” The other boy laughs awkwardly as he fumbles in his pocket and nearly drops his phone (bright blue with a tangled mess of phone charms attached, clicking together loudly as they swing with Yamaguchi’s movements) twice before he finally manages to taps it against Tsukishima’s. There’s a beep and Tsukishima looks down to see the new contact information on his screen: _Yamaguchi Tadashi._

“Can I—um, is it okay if I text you later?”

“That _is_ why I gave you my phone number.” It doesn’t come out as sharply as Tsukishima would like, softened by the joy radiating off of Yamaguchi in powerful waves that threaten to knock him over. Or make him do something _really_ stupid that he’ll regret later. He just wants the other boy to keep looking at him like that.

In a move that manages to seem both shy and impatient, Yamaguchi stuffs a 1000 yen bill into the cup and looks Tsukishima directly in the eye, a hint of a challenge on his flushed face. There’s something captivating about someone who refuses to let embarrassment get in the way of their resolve or in the way of what they want. Tsukishima resists the urge to gulp at the realization that, in this case, what Yamaguchi wants is him. Or, well, a kiss from him.

“Anything for my most loyal customer,” Tsukishima says dryly, trying (and probably failing) to keep his smirk from smoothing itself out into a real smile. He leans in, only closing his eyes when Yamaguchi starts to blur in front of him.

It’s warm. It’s sweet. Yamaguchi smells like sweat and festival food and it should be gross but it feels…human. Real. _This_ is real.

When Yamaguchi pulls away from him, Tsukishima feels a sense of loss deep in his chest, already missing their kiss. And then the sounds around him come rushing back in, music and laughter and shouting, and he can feel the uncomfortable way the countertop is digging into his stomach and maybe it’s better if he doesn’t let himself lean across the table and spend the rest of his shift kissing Yamaguchi in the middle of their school festival even though there’s a part of his brain that really, _really_ wants to.

“Th—um, th-thanks…?” The word sounds like a question, like Yamaguchi isn’t sure whether or not he should be thanking someone for a kiss. Tsukishima sure isn’t either. Even if it was nice. Even if maybe ( _maybe_ ) he might want to do it again.

He can see the other boy making his mind up to leave and, on impulse, he reaches out and snags the sleeve of Yamaguchi’s uniform jacket in one hand, leaning across the counter once again to plant a kiss low on Yamaguchi’s cheek, almost touching the corner of the other boy’s mouth.

“Um?” Yamaguchi’s voice is high and his cheeks flush pink again. Tsukishima begrudgingly admits to himself he’s grown somewhat fond of the sight.

“That one was for free. See you later.” He turns back to his book. Hopefully the hardcover can hide the way his cheeks are heating up.

* * *

As predicted, the kissing booth is basically a huge failure. At 1400 yen, Tsukishima is far and away their biggest contributor. He’s not sure what’s more embarrassing—that he’s the only one who got a 1000 yen bill, or that it means everyone knows someone paid to kiss him on the mouth.

The girl in front of him, the one who’d originally told him their class was counting on him, turns around and holds her hand up for a high five. He stares at her, at her hand, and then back at her, unmoved, until she drops it and flashes him a sheepish smile instead. “I knew we could count on you, Tsukishima-kun!” When he doesn’t respond, she turns pink and quickly faces forward in her chair once again.

Tsukishima thinks about his phone, the number on it, and the boy across the hall who helped him earn the 1400 yen everyone is congratulating him on, and bites the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> This one took less than a year from start to finish, go team.
> 
> Stay safe and wash your hands!


End file.
